Hanukkah Harry Potter and the Bad little Latke
by PinkPantsPrada
Summary: Harry Potter is lingering around in search for Godric's Hollow when he see's a sort of... Roundfaced fellow. Rita Skeeter is in love with the Minister. And she likes texting. EXTREMELY RANDOM. CRACKFIC. HARRYBASHING. JUST READ IT. IT'S... Precious.
1. Oh Damn

"_Hanukkah Harry Potter and the Bad little Latke_**"**

**Chapter One**

**Author's Note: **For goodness sake, it's been so long since I put a story on the intanet! I mean, internet. I'm so GANGSTA! -coughHACK- Kidding... Hack. .Hack//. Yes, I'm a nerd. Anyway, I wrote this out of the PUREST INSANITY OF THY MOUTH AND TONGUES! Um... Yeah, whatever, I just got bored, and It's Saturday. I'm tired, I'm bored... There you go. I'm also listening to _Moulin Rogue_!... Not a good sign. Anything that happens in this fanfiction, I beg to not being accounted for, especially if lap dances are involved in such nonsense.

**Disclaimer: **Don't own Harry or anyone else. Actually, I have no idea what this story is going to be about yet, I wrote this for a friend... Several friends actually. Because I'm... (24z'/

It was a soundless and algid night... Dead silent. Not like when you're watching a completely ghetto movie on your completely ghetto VHS player because you found you wanted to watch _The Little Mermaid _yet the movie is so old that you have no choice because it's not on DVD. Then you fall asleep, from boredom, or however exhausted you feel that particular night. Then all of the stupid fuzzy-wannabe-the Ring-Samara-crawls-out-of-the-tv-ness WAKES YOU UP... No, it wasn't like that at all. Like I said, it was dead silent. (Run on sentences. xD)

It wasn't the type of 'dead silence' in which no sounds were heard -- it was the one where its literal meaning was put in yo full use. Crickets weren't chirping, if that's what crickets even do, they were /screeching/ in their cricket-language as they were burnt to death by NEVILLE...'s TOAD.

The night air was like kissing tag. One minute, you were a virgin lips little girl, (or boy, whichever floats your boat) and some... grotesque little spawn-of-Satan comes and runs their filthy tight-lipped unhygienic saliva all over you. Okay, so it was like this, "GAWD, IT'S SO FREAKING HOT OUTSIDE! I THINK I'M SWELTERING!" Then the next, "AHH! BRR! COLD!" Yeah, like that... Wait, nevermind.

It was amidst a opaque pathway that Harry Potter emerged. Foggy night, as it was, which was not mentioned above... Then again, how many of you know the definition of 'opaque'? Because I'm pretty certain it has at least SIMILARITIES to fogginess.

He had exited from his invisibility cloak; emerald eyes intense, and scanning the area. Where was he anyway? He was looking for Godric's Hollow. Man, why did he have to be so insufferably blind? It was bad enough that people made _fun _of him for the round and thickness of them. Harry Potter squinted, reading a sign that lingered somewhat right in front of his abnormally high-cheekboned face. And do you know what this read?

It read, _"Salazar's Alveolate" _, that's what it read.

"Oh, damn." Harry cursed violently. And all of the sudden, out of nowhere, he started to PMS and beat up the sign in a muggle-way.

"DAMN IT ALL! DAMN IT! DAMN IT TO HERMIONE AND RON! THIS IS ALL OF THEIR FAULT!" Meaning, trying to break all of his fingers apart in the process of doing so. Oh, silly Harry Potter. Potter Harry. Parry Hotter. Terry... Whatever, I give up.

_Ribbit ribbit. _A sound. GASP. What was that bloody sound?! Harry wheeled around; eyes as big as spoons. Or sporks. Whichever floats your boat.

_Ribbit ribbit. _... Whatever it was, it was ridiculously close. Harry reached inside his robes in search for his wand – nothing there, except the somehow florescent hole in his pocket. He gasped and cursed again.

"Oh damn!" _Ribbit ribbit... _Oh damn, Harry Potter started walking backwards in a heavy pace. _Ribbit ribbit. _Oh damn, Harry Potter fell over. He was always a clumsy young man, that Harry Potter.

"Harry? What are you doing here?" Said a familiar voice. Harry looked up, although could not make out the silhouetted figure in front of him due to that huge forehead of his that obscured his vision and the glasses that had no apparent effect.

"What? Oh damn! Who are you?!" Harry blinked; as though trying to make out the figure before him – it didn't work.

"It's me, Harry! Neville Longbottom!" And so it was! The witless wonder, Neville Longbottom! Round-faced and all, his face in a grin as he leant Harry a hand.

"Neville? What the hell are you doing here?" Harry questioned bitterly, taking Neville's hand. Neville shrugged, then pulled out his oh-so innocent toad, Trevor, who ribbited once again. Harry scowled at the it.

"I lost Trevor, you see." Neville said, gesturing towards the toad.

"Oh damn, Neville, you scared the bloody hell out of me." Harry murmured, looking up at Neville, who was gripping his wand tightly. "All right, Neville?"

"'Course I am Harry, just a little agitated." Neville replied shortly.

"... Agitated? At what?"

"My jalapeno carcass," Neville, next to his toad, pulled out a deadened jalapeno. Harry stared at the both of them; disgusted that Neville could carry such things.

"My grandmum found it out in the freezer this morning. Did you know that 'Vibrissae' is a scientific way to say whiskers?"

"Um... No. But look, I've really got to get going, Neville." Harry began to turn around, and then all of the sudden...

"AVADA FREAKING KEDAVRA!"

Boom. Harry Potter died.

Yes, this was pointless. Yes, it was meant to waste your time. And yes, you may flame it.

If you want me to continue it, just say so.

— Hikari


	2. Especially not Jessica or Sangly

**Author's Note: **Oh, goodness... Here I go again. That was one of the most lamest and lacking-creative-literature pieces I have ever wrote. Here goes chapter two... Hope you guys like it. My friends requested I write another chapter, so I'd like to dedicate this to Russell the Dinosaur, (even though he's never read it...) and Captain Emo Head and her emo rangers. :) All of the emo rangers... Except for the one in baggy pants. (-cough- Stephanie Ngo-cough-)

-interruption-

Friend #1: What the hell are you talking about?! Stephanie Ngo doesn't wear baggy pants!!

Hikari: ... Your MOM doesn't wear baggy pants...

-cough- Anyway...

---

An office. A cold, dark office. Where Moaning Myrtle did not seek or lurk... Moaning Myrtle was currently moaning, after all, and not involved in the conversion quite at this moment. She was probably lamely flirting with the now deceased Harry Potter, after all. Frolicking around prancing around in underwear in an in-depth cereal war of verdict... And then they get stuffed in a bottle. Sold to a sperm whale. By me. Ha.

Rita Skeeter stood inside this office. Her blonde ringlets that flourished her once bald, pasty, head. The head of this woman strongly reminded the author of Benjamin's preposterous haircut.

"Harry Potter? Dead? How could this be?!" The Benjamin woman was bewildered. Bewildered, and scathingly shocked down to the huge pores that infested her face. She gripped her coral-colored cellphone tightly. Just in case any Death Eaters came and forced decomposing toast being festered by bugs down her throat.

"Yes, dead." Cornelius Fudge's voice rang out through the earphone of this cellphone. A gasp! A cerulean gasp... Which no one happens to know how her gasp came out the color of cerulean.

"... Are you sure?" Rita spoke once more, her voice coming out in a wavy whisper and terribly rigid.

"Oh, for the love of God... YES! I'M SURE HARRY POTTER IS DEAD!" The now tempered Cornelius Fudge had lost his cool. Obviously. But then... Rita had realized something. A very important something. Something that was so important, that you needed to be important in order to feel the importance.

If that makes sense.

"Wait, what the hell, Cornelius? You're not even the minister of magic anymore!" Rita yelled through the phone. Angry, that this man, who was not the minister of magic, was trying to steal the job away once again.

"Well, it's not my fault that the author forgot that itsy bitsy piece of information!" Cornelius exclaimed. And then he realized something... Something important. Something that was so important, that you needed to be important in order to feel the importance of such an ordained instruction manual. Yes, I am on marijuana. It's GOOOOD stuff!

"Wait, why the hell are we using phones? We're not muggles!"

"IT ISN'T A PHONE, IT'S A PINK RAZR PHONE, DUMB ASS!!" Rita hung up on EX-minister of magic. Notice the EX in that sentence. Because that means he's not the minister of magic.

All of the sudden, she felt very depressed... Very alone... Very... Disturbed. She pulled out the coral razr phone once again, and began... TEXT MESSAGING.

"hay baby. R u tired? Cuz u've been runnin' thru my mind all dayyy!!!!!!111" The amount of chatspeak that was used in this message was enough to corrupt the author of this story. And little children. But maybe corrupting them while they're young will make the world a better place.

And all of the sudden, Rita Skeeter got a mohawk.

And continued text messaging to Rufus Scrimgeour.

That's right, she thinks he's a sexy beast...

Don't ask.

Especially not Jessica or Sangly.

And then they got married, and had two beautiful children.

The End.

—

This was fucking lame. XDDDDDD


	3. Charade de Villefort

The author of this story has decided, under thorough investigation, that it is crucial she throw in an OC (own character. Duh.) into the fanfiction.

Because, it is seemingly done in any fanfiction I have ever read. Thus, my character's name is Charade de Villefort Salazar Slytherin Beauchamp Tom Marvolo Riddle Jr. Though she goes by Charade de Villefort, since her favorite character in _The Count of Monte Cristo _the BOOK is, thus, Gerard Villefort. And she's afraid people will jump down her throats in attempt to slay her if they knew she was, ANOTHER, heir of Slytherin. She's a pureblood, by the way, as most OC characters are. And an unregistered Animagus - she turns into a snake. Go figure!

Oh - yes, and her father is Tom Marvolo Riddle, that of whom loved her mother Charade de Villefort Salazar Slytherin Beauchamp Riddle Sr. quite much. But, of course, just like all of those old Mary Kate and Ashley Olson films, as soon as her father was defeated by the young Harry Potter, her mother died as well. How appropriate for such a Mary-Sue character. That left her to be an orphan. Forever. And ever, and ever, and ever. Thus, causing her world to come down and make her visually emo. And emo on the inside too.

Did I mention she is BEAUTIFUL? Oh yes, everyone in the Slytherin Common Room would DO HER. They would DO HER so fast that she'd be like, "ah!" and they'd be like, "ooh!" and Clinton would be like, "pow!". Malfoy would do her. Malfoy would do her TWICE. In fact, SNAPE would even do her. Well no, because Snape... Snape's doing me - the author. ooh, ooh! I know you're jealous. That's right - that IS right!!

Anyway, dearest Charade has dark, ebony, black locks just as her father had. And she's pale. In fact, she looks exactly like her father. Even down to the garnet-red eyes, slits for pupils, and mouth, and nostrils... Wow, she looks so much like her daddy! But she's so HAWT! I mean, if Malfoy did her twice, you've GOT to know she's a babe. Anyhow, so Charade attends Hogwarts in Happy Rotter's sixth year. If you don't know, the book is called _Harry Potter and The Half Blood Prince_. But nobody knows she's Tom Riddle's child except Harry.

I mean, he OBVIOUSLY knows she's Voldemort's kid. Who ELSE would have such distinctive snake-features? Anyway, so he tries telling Hermione and Ron, who don't believe him.

"Shut up, Harry!" Cries Ron from across the Gryffindor Common Room, pulling out a knife. "If I hear you say ONE DAMN MORE THING about Charade de Villefort Salazar Slytherin Beauchamp Tom Marvolo Riddle Jr. being Voldemort's daughter, I'll be forced to kill you!"  
"It DOES seem very unlikely, Harry," Hermione said with chivalry, shaking her head. "I mean, it's about as likely as Draco being a Death Eater!"

Harry Potter was literally losing it. His hair was falling out. His nose was turning upturned. His limps turning the direct color of puce. Until finally, he bellowed - shouted, more - screamed, yelling. . . At his two best friends. That of which he should have done in book six, rather than in book five... Because, let's face it - they should have listened to all of the things Harry said. Pfft, some best friends they are... The author scoffs in disgust.

"DUDE, WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU GUYS. I'M ALWAYS RIGHT. _ALWAYS_. JUST BECAUSE I THOUGH SIRIUS WAS AT THE DEPARTMENT OF MYSTERIES IN THE LAST BOOK, DOESN'T MEAN I'M WRONG NOW! FUCK, _FUCK! _I ALWAYS COME UP WITH ELABORATE STORIES TO WHICH I KNOW THAT MALFOY IS A DEATH EATER, AND YOU GUYS ARE ALWAYS LIKE, "Oh, it's _UNLIKELY _Harry!", OR, "_Yeah, _Harry! You're just being superstitious!" SUPERSTITIOUS MY DAMN ASS! CHARADE IS FUCKING VOLDEMORT'S DAUGHTER, JUST LIKE HOW MALFOY IS TOTALLY A DEATH EATER! YOU GUYS ARE THE FUCKING WORST FRIENDS EVER!"

And Harry died, because he jumped out a window in his frustration

Meanwhile, Malfoy was doing Charade for the second time, when he randomly blurbed out --

"OC CHARACTER'S _USUALLY _SUCK!"

And it's true. Unless they aren't some know-it-all prick of doom, Tom Riddle's daughter, or Malfoy's lover. It's true, kids.

You know what else is true? James Potter is a DOUCHEBAG.  
And Snape deserved Lily.

The End. :D


End file.
